


Fall to Pieces

by Kittenshift17



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Sex, Smut, Werewolf, drabble prompt, it got out of hand, sex outside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25379038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenshift17/pseuds/Kittenshift17
Summary: “You’re not the only one who falls to pieces when we’re together, little witch,” he murmured into her neck, his nose buried against her skin while his tongue occasionally dipped out to taste the blood she expected he’d drawn with his bite. “Never met a female more capable of shattering me all to pieces with just a whiff of her delicious scent.”
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Fenrir Greyback
Comments: 32
Kudos: 263





	Fall to Pieces

“This might be a bit of a silly question but.... what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Hermione Granger demanded, her hands on her hips as she stood in her back garden, glaring at the giant silver-backed wolf in the process of digging a rather large hole in the middle of her lawn.

Fenrir Greyback froze, mid-dig, before glancing at her over the rim of the almost foot deep hole he’d already created. His tail was wagging, and it was evident to her that he was having quite a nice time destroying her lawn. When pulled his muzzle out of the ground, there was dirt dusted across his nose and his tail began to wag in earnest at the sight of her. 

“Oh no,” Hermione said. “Fenrir, don’t you dare!”

Spinning, Hermione made a break for the house with the wolf right on her heels, the heavy thud of his paws unmistakeable on the grass in her wake. She barely made it three steps before one of those enormous paws batted at her ankle, tapping it hard enough to throw her off balance and sending her sailing to the ground. He was on her in a heartbeat, pouncing as she rolled to fend him off, barking loudly as he did so. 

“Stop it!” she cried, though the laughter bubbling from her throat suggested she was far from displeased. “I mean it! I swear, if you ruin this blouse with grass-stains and mud, I won’t let you back in the house, Fenrir!”

The wolf ignored her, putting muddy paw prints all over her nice work blouse before he started licking her face in earnest, his tail wagging like he was actually a pet pooch instead of a ferocious werewolf. Hermione laughed, wrestling him and trying to fend him off, to little avail. When eventually, he grew tired of only greeting her as a canine, he transformed right there on top of her, still pinning her to the ground and unconcerned by the fact that when he transformed, he was always naked. 

He proceeded to shower her face and neck with kisses, his much larger body pinning hers in the damp grass while he took his time greeting her thoroughly. When his lips brushed hers, Hermione melted, unable to keep from surrendering to him completely; as unable as she had been since first inviting him into her life almost a decade after the war when she’d found him scaring off a hinkypunk in her small orchard. Tangling her fingers in his mess of dark hair, Hermione snogged him thoroughly, her tongue meeting his stroke for stroke despite the fact that he tasted a little bit like he’d been nosing around in the mud after whatever he’d chased to dig that damn hole. 

Hermione broke their kiss with a hiss when he lifted off her slightly, one of his hands fisting the fabric of her A-line work-skirt and dragging it up out of his way. He lowered his mouth to her neck, dragging his teeth over her carotid and making her skin break out in goosebumps. 

“How do you always make me fall to pieces in seconds when I’m with you?” she asked, shifting under him slightly to help him, horrendously enthused that he wanted to ravish her right there on the ground in the middle of the yard.

“Practice,” he replied, his low voice husky with desire and gravelly from his recent time as the wolf. 

He’d dragged her skirt out of his way by now, and Hermione was abysmally pleased she’d forgone stockings as his fingers trailed up the inside of her right thigh. He nuzzled his way down the side of her neck, kissing her and licking her while his hands travelled north, seeking the heat at the junction of her thighs. God, she’d been thinking about something just like this all day. 

“I hate being away from you,” she told him huskily as he encountered the fabric of her knickers and pulled them to one side, his strong fingers exploring her body with practiced ease. 

“Good,” he answered as he nosed open the neck of her blouse to get at more of her skin. “Means you’ll always come back to me.”

“Always,” Hermione whispered before a low hiss of delight escaped her as his fingers found a home for themselves inside her. “Oh my god, Fen... more.”

“Patience, girly,” he rumbled against her left breast, mouthing her nipple through the fabric when he couldn’t get the shirt open without forgoing his current activities elsewhere. 

“No patience,” Hermione argued. “Do you know how hard it is to sit through boring work meetings when all I want is to be here. Right here. Oh god, right there, Fen.”

“Thinking about me in your meetings, were you?” he teased, kissing his way back up the side of her neck while his fingers beckoned and almost drove her mad. 

God, she’d wanted him so badly all day long that she was going to explode from just his fingers at this rate. 

“Yeeessss,” she whined, answering his question and unable to keep the sound inside.

His low chuckle was at once smug and evil, and she would punish him for it later. 

“Thought about me taking you out here, did you?” he taunted, licking at the spot below her ear that drove her wild.

“Yeesss,” Hermione moaned again. “Please, Fen. Please take me right here.”

“Such an impatient little thing, aren’t you?” he chuckled, kissing her lips in teasing pecks when all she wanted was more friction anywhere and everywhere she could get it. “You’d make a terrible wolf. Spook every bunny you ran across with you eagerness, you would.”

“Please don’t make me wait,” Hermione begged before capturing his lips and kissing him hard, her hands knotting in his hair and dragging at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, wanting him inside her right this minute. He kissed her hard in return, and Hermione knew he wanted her; knew he would take her like she wanted him too; and damn well knew he’d make her wait for it just to heighten the pleasure. 

“Love it when you beg,” he murmured into her ear when he kissed his way across her cheek, nibbling her lobe tauntingly while she bucked against his hand. “Love it when you want me so bad, you could scream.”

Hermione bit his neck in reply, and he groaned, grinding himself against her leg and making her crazy. 

“Please, Fenrir,” Hermione whispered, desperate now, her breath laboured, right on the edge as his clever fingers kept up their relentless onslaught. “Please. Please. Please. Oh god... I’m... I’m....argh!”

He swallowed her scream, kissing her hard again as she detonated, lest they alert the neighbours and get done for a noise complaint. Again. Fenrir brought her down slowly, his fingers moving gently now, before he slowly withdrew them and moved over her. Hermione watched through hooded eyes as he brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean of her flavour before fixing her a wolfish grin. Gods, it was so easy to forget this man was a predator in their day to day lives when he burned the toast or lost his footing on the stairs in his socks, but when he looked at her like that, Merlin, she felt like prey. Decidedly willing prey just waiting to be devoured by the Big Bad Wolf. 

He never looked away as he entered her, thrusting shallowly as her body adjusted to accommodate him before sinking to the hilt and holding there for a long torturous minute. Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed at the feel of him there, so deep. He always filled her to overflowing and she loved every second of it. Since the first time he’d bedded her, she never felt complete excepting in moments when he was inside her once more. He claimed that wolf-mates weren’t real, but by the Gods, she would swear she wasn’t whole without him. 

He took her slowly at first, still teasing her, coaxing her back up that hill toward her pinnacle of pleasure, but when she wrapped her legs around his hips and dug the pointed heels of her work shoes into his arsecheeks, driving him deeper, a feral growl escaped him and he snapped. And Gods, she lived for the moments when he snapped. He fucked her then; fucked her like she owed him money; fucked her like he hated her; fucked her like he loved her; fucked her like he meant to drive himself so deep inside of her she’d never be free of him. Merlin, she never wanted to be free of him. 

When she dragged her nails over his back, he growled again, and Hermione cried out, blinded by pleasure when he sank his fangs into the top of her shoulder right in the junction where it met her neck. She could feel him swelling inside her, pulsing and filling her and Gods, she loved every second of it. She clung to him afterwards, pleased when he collapsed on top of her, spent, his heavy, muscled form pressing into hers so deliciously, grounding her when she felt so lightheaded and blissful, she might otherwise float away on the breeze. 

“You’re not the only one who falls to pieces when we’re together, little witch,” he murmured into her neck, his nose buried against her skin while his tongue occasionally dipped out to taste the blood she expected he’d drawn with his bite. “Never met a female more capable of shattering me all to pieces with just a whiff of her delicious scent.”

Hermione smiled, humming happily and tracing nonsensical patterns over the broad expanse of his back. When he pulled back far enough to look at her, Hermione recognised the gleam in his eyes. It was the gleam that said he meant to keep her for the rest of his days; the gleam that said he owned her, body and soul. Hermione didn’t mind. She knew it was true. And most importantly, she knew she owned him too. Heart. Body. Mind. Soul. Even his wolf. She owned it all. They’d never said the three words that couples so often traded to express sentiment. She wasn’t sure he even knew them, after how he’d been raised. But she felt them, and when he looked at her like that, she knew he felt them too. 

Reaching to cup his cheek in her palm, feeling the scratch of stubble on his jaw and shivering with the feel, Hermione grinned wolfishly at him. 

“Want to fall to pieces all over again, upstairs, in the shower?” she offered. 

He hadn’t even pulled out of her yet. He wouldn’t either. Scooping her into his arms, he climbed to his feet clutching her, his mouth fused to hers while he carried her across the yard and into the house, intent on ravishing her all over again.


End file.
